In-Extremis
by EvilAngel310
Summary: He's known since almost before he can recall that he was going to die. It's his first solid memory - everything before that is just smudged fragments, worn and faded by time and distance. All of the fire and fervor in him is gone, because he has nothing and he is nothing and he's realizing that his life was always just a story that desperately needs an ending. AU Season 2.
1. Chapter 1

**In-Extremis**

 ** _to be at the point of death_**

* * *

 _"You're dying, your highness. Just very, very slowly."_

 _"Isn't everyone?"_

 _"Not the way you are."_

* * *

He's known since almost before he can recall that he was going to die. In fact, it's his first solid memory - everything before that is just smudged fragments, worn and faded by time and distance. But this conversation, that day in the hospital, is crystal clear in his memory, even though he couldn't have been more than six.

He'd fallen. Or maybe he'd been pushed. The details of when and how are fuzzy. Somehow he'd managed to fracture four ribs and wind up with heavy internal bleeding. He isn't sure whether or not he's glad of it - they might never have discovered the monster in his bones, slowly devouring him from the inside out, if they hadn't had to operate on him. Nevertheless, it seems quite impressive to him the strides that his people's doctors have made - they can sew up tiny wounds deep inside a person and stop them from bleeding inside.

They don't know how to fix him, though. Nobody does. It's _incurable. Terminal._

Uncle says he is _'self destructive'_. If only he knew how Zuko claws at his skin sometimes, in the dead of night, trying hopelessly to bleed the poison from his body. It won't work, he knows, but sometimes he swears he can feel it crawling through his veins, defiling him. Condemning him. And he wants to bleed himself dry, because his own blood is a venom consuming the life in him.

Sometimes Zuko wonders if Iroh knows. He's never told anyone. Of the people who knew, his mother is gone, and his father has banished him. The secret wasn't passed to anyone else, so far as he knows; Uncle was away on the front lines when it happened, Azula was too young to be burdened with that knowledge, and it wasn't like any of them were particularly close to his grandfather. But he _says_ things, things that Zuko can't help but question. He talks about destiny and fate and treats him like a _child_ , the child he ceased to be the day his father sent him away to die, but sometimes he talks, says words like _self-destructive,_ and he looks at him with a sadness in his eyes that Zuko can't explain any other way, and he thinks Iroh _must_ know.

But then the old man will ramble about how the future Fire Lord has to be honorable and principled, and talks about how one day he will be a master bender if he'll just apply himself and learn to use his head, and Zuko can't see any hint of the lie in his eyes, so either his Uncle is Azula in another skin, or he doesn't know.

He can't bring himself to tell his Uncle that he will be dead before he reaches twenty.

* * *

Years, it's been. Three whole years. He's lost his home, his birthright, his family, his nation - and now he's lost his meaning. Three years, he searched and searched until he didn't really know why he was searching, just that he couldn't stop, because stopping meant giving up, and that was never, ever an option.

And now the search has been ended. _Taken._ Now there is no purpose to his existence at all, and he will die the miserable failure everyone has always said he is, and he will do it - he will die - far, far away from home.

Uncle keeps talking about a new home, and a new life, and _starting over,_ but there's no point to that because Zuko is _dying,_ and he doesn't know when, but lately there's a feeling in his bones that tells him the end isn't far away. And even though he feels a little guilty, he's glad, because he's got nothing left to do with himself and the waiting is driving him insane. He feels like a ghost, because all he does is haunt this city and wait for his body to catch up with his mind.

He wonders if knowing that he is on the brink of death is turning him into a philosophical nutjob like Uncle, because he is coming to poignant conclusions about his existence - although _he_ keeps them to himself, thanks very much. He feels like the little matchgirl from the fairytales his mother used to read to him - cold and lonely and just waiting for all her illusions to fade so she can too. Just like him. All of the fire and fervor in him is gone, because he has nothing and he is nothing and he's realizing that his life was always just a story that desperately needs an ending.

His world is only a thousand shades of grey, and all the colors are faded - he only sees them when he tries to look at it through someone else's eyes. He is a phantom, a shadow, and he watches other people - _creatures,_ he thinks, and wonders when he stopped thinking of himself as a person - because they are _so beautiful_ and _so alive_ and if there was any one thing he could understand before he goes, it's what that feels like. Zuko doesn't think he's ever known what it feels like to be _alive_ , to have a _future_ \- that intangible thing that he has never possessed and cannot comprehend - instead of simply waiting around to die.

Uncle talks about the spirits and destiny as though there's some higher power guiding everything, but deep down inside Zuko just _can't_ believe that, because what was the point of creating a person for no other reason than to die? Either they aren't real (not omnificent, anyway, he knows that such a thing as a spirit exists), or they're cruel entities who feed off suffering.

Either way, Zuko doesn't think his uncle has chosen his deities well.

"I want to go home," he says, every day. It's the automatic response, so he doesn't have to say _I don't know_ or _I want my destiny_ or _I want my honor_ or _why does it matter?_ Ironic, given that home is yet another concept he's not sure he understands. Lots of people talk about home. " _Home is where the heart is,"_ so many times he's heard. But he's pretty sure his heart, dead as it is, is firmly in his chest, and he's here in this city, dead as it is, not in the palace full of ghosts where he was born, and there's only one answer he can come to.

 _"Where is home?"_

 _"The place I was supposed to belong."_

* * *

 **11/25/15**


	2. Chapter 2

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _"Who said you had to stop breathing to die?"_

* * *

He hates the tea shop, because the dullness and monotony is a constant reminder that _this is what the rest of your life looks like._

Every day is a parody of the last, the names and faces only variations in a never-ending series of rehearsals. Even those aren't so different; when they see his face - _half_ his face - the reaction is inevitably the same. Shock, pity, _disgust._ He's _disgusting._ His hands shake every time and a feeling like nausea settles in his hips, and he wonders sometimes if he'll ever grow numb to it, because he still hasn't and it's been three years, and he wants to snarl and scream and slap - but never burn, he'll never burn anyone if can, he won't do it - it off their faces because they have _no right_ and they don't even know who he is or how he got it or that he's dying.

It makes him angry, when most of the rage that used to bubble inside him has fermented and turned to a quiet, listless bitterness, and in a way he's glad because when he's angry he feels the most real. When he's angry, he lashes out - he _touches_ the world. When it fades, he's just the shadow in the corner; almost gone, but not quite. Sometimes he thinks he is the darkness, because without darkness there's no such thing as light and it's hard for him to look at the brightness so he keeps his eyes on the ground and reminds everyone silently that he is what all of them are striving not to become someday.

He's _disgusting._ And _defective._ Though only his father has ever called him that, the feeling of _wrongness_ deep in his bones tells him it's true.

 _Father calls me a disgrace._

But what he meant, every time he said it, is that his very existence is a shame on Fire Lord Ozai's legacy - how could the firstborn son of the most powerful man in the world be _defective?_ \- because he'd been _made_ wrong and anything he's ever done is just icing on the cake because no matter what he says or does he will always be what he is, a screwed-up mash of cells and DNA that will never function properly, and nothing can change that.

His very existence is embarrassing.

Uncle doesn't understand that. He thinks it's all a _self-esteem_ issue and that Zuko just needs to recognize . . . something . . . and then everything will magically be better. He spouts endless proverbs and sayings that Zuko can't make heads or tails of as though they will fix all his problems and make him _see_.

But Father is _right._ Maybe cruel, but he's right. Because there definitely is something wrong with him and in the end when they remember his name it will be just like the way they remember all the orphans of Shu Jing who died working in the factories.

 _Cause of death: failure to thrive._

But Uncle is here and alive and wants him to be too, so Zuko thinks he can hold on a few more months. It's the least he can do, given everything Zuko has put him through. Everything he will put him through, when his body finally quits.

So he waits. He sits by the window and watches the inhabitants of the Lower Ring - _don't they know how beautiful they are? -_ and tries to understand what it's like to be a person, because he may be human but he certainly doesn't belong in these places filled with living souls that he can't fathom but can't help loving, just a tiny little bit.

Maybe there's enough room in his dead, frozen heart for that.

They wander by his street, in vibrant greens and rich browns and dusty grays, some laughing, some chattering, some with an air of sadness only he can fully appreciate. Some guarded, wearing caution like a poorly made disguise and watching the corners and alleyways with uneasy suspicion. Not that he blames them; he knows what scum are lurking there.

Some of them pass by briskly, hardly sparing a glance, some stroll by casually, with a relaxed countenance or a lover on their arm. Some find doors and some pass by. Some slip into the shadows and some walk in the light.

Every one of them is unique. And in their uniqueness, they are all exactly the same.

He watches from the window of his room in their shabby apartment, imagining what they are saying and doing. He tried sitting out on the street once, but it seems the sight of him brings out the darkness in others. Smiles fade and postures turn cold. Some give him pitiful glances - make him want to spit - and some sneer, spitting out insults and jeers that they have no right to call him. Somehow, the words fascinate him, entrancing and repelling at the same time. There's a grace to them that he finds a little spellbinding.

 _Disgusting._

 _Defective._

 _Disgrace._

 _Scum._

They cut him and leave him hollow and dry, but they're his in a way nothing else is.

* * *

 _"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will make me think I deserved it."_

* * *

 **11/26/15**


	3. Chapter 3

**In-Extremis**

 ** _to be at the point of death_**

* * *

 _"Why me? Why do I have to die?"_

 _"I don't have an answer for that. You just have to keep fighting."_

 _"Why? You just said no one survives."_

* * *

The Freedom Fighter, Jet, is an _idiot._

An absolute moron.

Zuko is sick of him trailing him around and peeping in his apartment - he _knows_ the asshat is there. It's really frustrating and irritating and downright creepy, and Zuko hates it, he's almost gone already and all he wants is a little damn privacy - is that so much to ask? He wonders if Jet knows what it is he's threatening them with every time he levels that charge, _Fire Nation,_ wonders if he knows it means certain death. He can't imagine the the great city of Ba Sing Se will suffer two very probable spies after having survived a hundred years of war.

If he gets caught then he'll just die a few months sooner, and maybe he wouldn't be so upset about that, but Uncle is _alive_ in ways he isn't and the old man deserves the happiness he has found here after everything Zuko has put him through.

So when the nutjob busts through Pao's doors and shouts to all and sundry that he and his uncle are _firebenders_ \- the disgust in the way he spits the word makes Zuko's skin crawl and the poison rushing through his veins stings and makes him want to rip open his open his skin - Zuko grabs a guard's dao and snaps them apart, takes the challenge.

"You'll have to defend yourself. Then everyone will know. Go ahead, show them what you can do."

"You want a show? I'll give you a show."

There's clashing and adrenaline and all he can think is _Yes!_ because it's the fight and the rush and maybe this is feeling alive.

Jet smashes the table out from under his feet, and Zuko grits his teeth, takes the dive, and locks his blades against Jet's . . . hook-things . . . and pushes him towards the door, because somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he needs to get this lunatic away from Uncle and out of close quarters before a bystander get caught in the fray.

Although, he can't deny the guilty satisfaction he takes in destroying the stupid shop. He'll have to clean it up in the morning, and Pao will probably take the damages out of his wages, but it feels _so good_ to finally - if inadvertently - vent the frustration and hatred that's been cooped up inside his chest on this stupid place.

He bursts through the door, and like a pig-sheep, Jet follows. Weapons clash, and Zuko catches Jet's strange hook-things on his crossguards, and gives a shove, growling with exertion. His muscles are screaming with pain, his eroding body is losing the tolerance for these kinds of battles.

"Bet you wish he'd help you out with a little fireblast right now," Jet hisses, face only inches away from Zuko's. This strange intimacy, of harsh breaths and strained muscles and the push and shove and the way that he loves his enemies even while he hates them, the clash of wills, of who falls and who triumphs, is so alluring that he can hardly spit out his reply.

"You're the one who needs help."

He flexes his wrists, thrusts, and his blades are freed, and the fight rages once more. His mind can't register anything beyond the triumphant - if painful - pounding of his heart and the feeling of confidence, the certainty in his sweaty hands gripping the blades and the exhilarating rush of air and freedom that for once outweighs the pain as he swings and ducks and twists, and he is remembering why he could never stop fighting.

The moment his fingers curled around those blades he lost all inhibition; instinct alone guides him now, his body moving faster than his mind, only _here_ and _left_ and _now_ and _faster_ surfacing through the muddled cacophony of his brain.

Jet is fighting for evidence, for dominance; because he has something to prove.

Zuko is fighting for the sheer joy of it.

Even though he needs to finish this before the authorities arrive, even as he snags away one of Jet's weapons, he keeps pushing, keeps turning, keeps swinging, because Jet is good but Zuko is _better -_ and there's something crowing proudly in his chest at that - and he's never had an opportunity to cross blades with anyone even close to his level, and the sync and tandem of this battle of steel and will is his own personal nirvana.

So it's unconscious - and dumbfounding - to him when without meaning to he's pushing the faintest arcs of _blue_ off the tips of his blades - blue fire is for _prodigies,_ for masters, for Azula - but right now he's more at peace with himself than he can ever remember being and this sureness pumping in his poisoned veins isn't a feeling that he's ever had before and he certainly isn't willing to let go of it. He really should stop, he's about to blow their cover; but no one seems to be making anything of it, so Zuko acts like this is normal and everyone sees what they want to see.

Except Jet.

He stumbles back, blinking as if in shock.

"You see that? The Fire Nation is trying to silence me!"

His shaggy dark head swivels back around, brown irises fixing on gold.

"It'll _never_ happen."

And Jet rushes back at him, so Zuko happily obliges and takes another swing.

 _Back and forth and around and twist and block and swing and parry and-_

"Drop your weapons."

And the thrill dies, morphing into apprehension and fear as it sinks from his head down into his hips. His breath stings his throat, and his lungs suddenly sting.

He lowers the swords.

"Arrest them, they're firebenders!"

 _No, no, no, no_

"This poor boy is confused," Uncle calls from behind him, and Zuko almost smirks as he identifies Uncle's _I'm just a innocent old man who lost his lotus tile how can you think I had anything to do with this_ voice, "we're just simple refugees."

"This young man wrecked my tea shop and assaulted my employees!" Pao. Indignant. Relief begins to settle in Zuko's tense shoulders, the ache from the fight and the disease setting into his frame and making his hands tremble.

"It's true, sir," _the guard, the one I took the dao from_ "we saw the whole thing. This crazy kid attacked the finest tea maker in the city!"

Iroh laughs, embarrassed but charmed, but Zuko's eyes never leave the two Dai Lee, watching carefully for the slightest hint of danger. But they approach Jet, rock-gloved hands spread warily, and Zuko's heart sinks a little, because Jet has been a thrilling opponent and as much as Zuko wants him to go away something in his gut is telling him that the Dai Lee are a far more sinister entity than 'cultural protectors'.

They drag him away as he screams like a madman that Zuko and Uncle are guilty, and Zuko thinks that maybe this is how it needs to be, because Jet seems a bit unstable now and the wild look in his eyes terrifies Zuko a little bit.

So he turns away and cleans up the mess he's made and goes to his _apartment_ \- it's not his home, it'll never be home, but it's a house and that's all he needs for now.

His dreams are black and white and rushing blood and when we wakes he's soaking in sweat and guilt and a desperation to remember exactly what it felt like to feel alive.

* * *

 _"There's no such thing as a happy ending."_

* * *

 **11/27/15**


	4. Chapter 4

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _And you spend yours days numbered, always wondering if the next step you take will be the straw that breaks the camel's back._

* * *

"Did you hear, Nephew? This man wants to give us our own tea shop in the Upper Ring of the city!"

The ties of his apron are cutting into the base of his neck and his entire legs burn with weary pain from being on his feet all day - he knows he should be resting more, he doesn't think his body can handle this for very much longer, but Uncle will get suspicious and the very last thing in the world he wants is to have to look Uncle in the eye and see his face when he finds out the truth - and he just does not have the patience for this. He should be happy for Uncle, really, but he's just so _tired._

"That's right, young man! Your life is about to change for the better."

 _Liar._

He's furious suddenly. It makes no difference whether he dies working in the Upper Ring or the Lower Ring - it will still be meaningless and vapid and be a pitiful ending to a worthless life. And this grinning, suave, bejeweled buffoon will _never_ understand that.

Zuko slams the tray down. He doesn't work here anymore; his job is done.

He bites back the scathing words because Uncle is here and this is his dream and his life won't be better but _Uncle's will_ , and that's what really matters.

"I'll try to contain my joy."

He slams the door behind him, finishing one chapter of his life to begin another that's exactly like the last.

The greys and browns and greens of row after row of matching buildings greet his weary eyes. He slumps against a wall, shooting pain all along his spine making it impossible to stand straight any longer. Nausea churns his stomach and his fingernails dig into his palms, the sharp pain a reminder that Uncle is inside and he'd promised himself he'd hold out awhile longer. Spirits damn it, though - it _hurts_ so much.

It's harder to walk. Harder to breathe. He's hungry all the time but the mere scent of food makes him want to vomit. And it's getting harder to muster the resolve it takes just to get up from under the blankets in the morning. Maybe he should tell Uncle, but he just can't stomach the idea - he's hoping he will be comatose by the time Iroh figures it all out - although the image of Uncle finding a cold body in his cot one morning nearly makes him heave the contents of his stomach out on to the street.

He _can't_ do that to him, but he doesn't have any other options so he keeps his mouth shut and lies every day.

Zuko has never been a good liar, but this one secret he will carry to his grave.

A flutter of paper distracts him from his dilemma.

It's a thin sheet drifting down from the sky. His body may be deteriorating but his reflexes are as sharp - if more painful - as ever; his fingers automatically curl around the edge and he studies it intently, expecting to toss it aside.

How wrong he is.

 _Lost Sky Bison. If seen, please return to Avatar Aang._

It even has an address.

 _The Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se._

The Avatar. Here.

Fury builds behind his eyes, and his vision swims with the intensity of it.

 _Why now? Why here?_

 _Destiny_ , he once would have said. He knows now that's a load of ostrich-horse dung. There's no such thing as destiny, only the inevitability of suffering. Suddenly spurred into motion, he scrambles up onto the rooftop with a grace that belies the amount of pain it costs; scans the air desperately for any sign of the monk.

Nothing. Only more pages blowing in the wind.

His veins tingle and the paper crumples in his fists - he's tired of being the plaything of whatever sadistic force guides history.

He thinks he'll do something different this time.

* * *

"The Avatar is here in Ba Sing Se. And he's lost his bison."

He doesn't know why he's telling uncle; maybe it's an unconscious apology for the other secret. He strides to the window, stares out at the city while Iroh contemplates the paper Zuko has thrust into his hand.

"We have a chance for a new life here. If you start stirring up trouble, we could lose all the good things that are happening for us."

Something snaps. He whirls, the bitterness tumbles from his lips, seeping poison that carries more weight than Uncle knows.

"Good things that are happening _for you._ Have you ever thought that I want more from life than a nice apartment and a job serving tea?"

"There is nothing wrong with a life of peace and prosperity!" Uncle sounds exasperated. _Doesn't understand._ Not that Zuko expected he would. "I suggest you think about what it is that you want for your life, and why."

He turns away again, his lip curling at the bitter irony.

"I want my _destiny_."

* * *

 _The destiny of all men leaves no survivors._

* * *

He wears the mask, and he feels - he thinks, anyway - _alive_ again.

Slipping through the cover of night with a familiarity no _child of fire_ should ever possess, the wind nips playfully at his concealed skin. It's _exciting_ and _exhilarating_ and he's breathless with the pain but he doesn't make a sound, merely ghosts along the shadows, fingers itching to draw his blades.

He's made far too few of these nightly excursions over the past few years - he wishes he'd done this more often.

It's all too easy, catching and coaxing the location of the bison from the Dai Lee agent he'd targeted. Stringing him up so he won't be able to follow or warn anyone before Zuko can pull off the heist. Actually, it's kind of pathetic. _This_ is what the entire city cowers in fear of?

It sickens him slightly to imagine what Azula would do with this place.

He moves quickly - he's always had to, he doesn't have _luck_ or raw power like his opponents always do.

But he feels so . . . _peaceful._ The moment the mask slips on, he's free - he doesn't have to be _Zuko the traitor prince_ or _Zuko the worthless failure._ There are no expectations or impossible standards for him to struggle for, because he's _himself_ and that's all he needs to be.

So it makes sense that it's the Blue Spirit's guise he takes for this mission.

After all, he is about to free the Avatar's bison.

Uncle won't understand this. He won't _get_ the burning need to do something for himself; this is the first choice he's ever made for _him_ and it may be the last but that's fine by him. This is real treason - turning his back on his father, his nation. But he's got nothing left to lose and too much blood has been shed and he's about to have his vengeance. In this world of wasted opportunity and endless misery, this is the mark he has chosen to leave.

Destiny indeed. He's spitting in the face of any spirit who's watching. His honor may be a joke, but tonight he'll _give_ the purpose to the sixteen years he was given. _This_ will be his reason for existence.

So that his father can never hurt anyone the way he hurt him _ever again._ And maybe that's putting a bit too much faith in one scrawny kid, but at the moment he doesn't care.

He's _positively gleeful,_ and he won't even consider denying it.

Really, it is _ridiculously_ easy to case the secret headquarters. _Talk about arrogant,_ he thinks snidely as he pushes the door open.

He's greeted with a low growl.

"Expecting someone else?"

He can see the creature huddled against the far wall, snorting with alarm.

He's never spoken with the mask on before.

It's a strange feeling - his voice is muffled and changed - not _Zuko_ at all and he thinks that he likes it, he likes this self that's been missing a layer all this time, and his triumph is nearly at hand.

He closes the door, advances cautiously.

"You're mine now." _My legacy._

 _You are my purpose._

He isn't doing it for the Avatar, or the bison, or the world, or his father - he's doing it because he feels it's _right_ and it's his first decision and the first time he's done something for himself and he thinks maybe he's finally taken the last step to becoming an adult.

But everything sours as the door grinds open behind him and he whirls, blades at the ready, only to find . . .

"Uncle?"

 _No, no, no, no!_

He's calm. Grim, but calm. And Zuko knows what's coming.

"So. The Blue Spirit. I wonder who could be behind that mask."

And suddenly his glorious new reality crumbles and he feels like an imposter again, stupid and incompetent. He rips the wood from his face, exposing his hideous visage and he's never felt so _low._

"What are you doing here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing. What do you plan to do now that you have found the Avatar's bison? Keep it locked in our new apartment? Should I go put on a pot of tea for him?

 _He thinks I'm still trying to capture him._ Zuko latches onto the lie like a drowning man - Uncle may think him incompetent and foolish but he won't know that Zuko _came_ here with the _express intent_ of committing _treason_. He looks back at the animal so that the old man can't see his lies. "First I have to get it out of here."

"AND THEN WHAT?!"

Uncle is _shouting_ at him.

Uncle has _never_ shouted at him for this before.

"You never think these things through! This is _exactly_ what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole! You had him, and then you had nowhere to go!"

He grits his teeth. "I would have figured something out!"

"No! If his friends hadn't found you, you would have _frozen to death_!"

And suddenly rage is boiling in his chest - _why_ did his stupid old uncle have to come and ruin everything? Why couldn't he have just stayed at his stupid apartment and drunk his stupid tea instead of following him and screwing up the last bit of peace he'd found? Why did he _always_ have to find fault?

"I know my own destiny, Uncle."

His resolve is breaking down and he _hates_ the way his voice cracks but all the little pieces of him are falling apart and Uncle is tearing them down even faster with these words that are cutting him like knives that burn with the knowledge that this one act could never make up for everything he's done.

"Is it your own destiny? Or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?"

He doesn't understand what Uncle is getting at, but he _needs_ to do this, and he shouldn't have come here and made Zuko make him watch this, but it's too late and he's gone too far and this is the last chance. "Stop it, Uncle. I _have_ to do this."

"I'm _begging_ you, Prince Zuko!" His voice reverberates around the room, his words confusing Zuko ever further and this strange mass of pain in his chest is building and he _doesn't understand_ what Uncle is trying to say. "It's time for you to look inward, and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you? And what do _you_ want?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and screams his frustration and pain, mask falling from his fingers. He feels bare and exposed and broken, head aching and shoulders heaving from the pain it takes to breathe.

"Nephew?"

" _Don't,"_ he hisses through clenched teeth. His fingers tighten around the blades, and wordlessly he steps forward and slashes the chains before Iroh can shake his resolve any further.

The clatter echoes around the chamber with a finality that silences all thought. Zuko's hands are trembling, and ever so slowly he steps towards the next leg, shearing the metal with a precision that he really shouldn't be able to manage in this state.

One by own, until they're all off.

Uncle says nothing. Zuko can't bring himself to look at him.

Shame is burning in him, and finally Uncle just takes his elbow, mutters for him to come. The dank, dark tunnels are a unending blur, looking the same as the last before finally sunlight breaks on his head, his fingers barely strong enough to hold him as he climbs up from under the earth. Iroh puts a hand on his arm, says _"Leave it behind,"_ so Zuko releases the blue painted wood and he thinks he feels something in his chest shatter just a little further.

But then they get home - _home,_ he's never thought of it as home before, he doesn't want to and he hates himself for it - and the first words out of Uncle's mouth are, "You did the right thing."

His jaw goes slack, he doesn't understand _why doesn't Uncle hate me for this?_ Because he's betrayed everything he and Uncle and Grandfather and Great-Grandfather have sacrificed their lives for and Zuko thinks maybe he's hallucinating, because there's no way he heard that right. He certainly feels awful enough to be, his vision is swimming so badly the whole world is blurred and his limbs aren't moving where he tells them, and as he collapses he thinks _this is the end._

* * *

 _No good deed goes unpunished._

* * *

 **11/28/15**


	5. Chapter 5

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _A shadow of a man, I am nothing less._

* * *

There are flashes of color - dull green and brown, and everything fades in and out. He feels _heavy,_ so heavy, as though his body is filled with lead and he's slick and stifled and he _desperately_ needs water, his mouth is so _dry_ , his tongue feels like a desert. His lungs burn with every breath and his bones ache. His lids flicker weakly and he struggles to lift his body, he needs to move, he feels like he's drowning and burning all at once, and suddenly he sees Uncle kneeling over him.

 _No._

He doesn't want to see this. Not this, _anything but this-_

"You have an intense fever. This will help you cool down."

And suddenly there's _blessed relief,_ something cool and cold and dripping down his temples is slung over his eyes, and he is so, _so_ thankful that even if his mouth had the capability of forming words he knows he'd be unable to speak.

He manages to rasp _"thirsty,"_ and Uncle presses something cold against his lips, something about staying under the blankets, and somewhere he finds the energy to lift his head, grab for the bucket and dump sweet respite all over his sticky hot skin. It's so cold and lovely and he feels _much_ better, if only for a few moments, but then a terrible cough racks him and he collapses, spent and wheezing, hoping Uncle doesn't see the flecks of blood he tastes so sharply.

His neck curls and he huddles in on himself, helpless to do anything but drift into oblivion.

* * *

 _"It's getting late. Are you planning to retire soon, my lord?"_

The voice is familiar, but he can't place it. An uneasy tingle travels Zuko's spine as he sits on the throne - _his_ throne - surrounded by masses of his kowtowing soldiers.

"I'm not tired," he says, but as soon as the words leave his lips something inside him shrivels and the pain hits him - the same pain he's always worn every day of his life, the pain that's grown stronger and stronger in recent weeks. He fights to keep his back straight, somehow he knows better than to show weakness before the Blue Dragon curling sinuously about his dais.

She looms closer, and he struggles to keep his burning breaths even. _"_ Relax _,_ _Fire Lord Zuko. Just_ let go _._ _Give in to it. Shut your eyes for awhile."_

 _"No, Fire Lord Zuko!"_

He starts, _Uncle!_ But the Dragon of the West has become an actual dragon, and he too moves to curl his neck protectively around Zuko. The prince - Fire Lord - can see his reflection in Uncle's red scales, sees his face, whole and unblemished, and he knows somehow that this is how Uncle sees him.

He wants to weep, because in reality he's a withering corpse, and he can't bear to break the illusion that Uncle sees.

 _"Do not listen to the Blue Dragon. You should get out of here right now."_

He hesitates, the dragging heaviness growing stronger.

 _"Go! Before it's too late!"_

 _"Sleep now, Fire Lord Zuko. Isn't this what you wanted?"_

He swallows, horror growing in his belly.

Uncle stares, pleading and betrayal reflected in his draconic irises that cut into his very soul. _"Zuko?"_

"I didn't mean to . . . I'm just . . . I'm _tired,_ Uncle." His eyes are stinging and the shame and guilt burn his insides like acid - _it wasn't supposed to be this way, not like this -_

 _"Didn't you ask for an ending? Not a happy one - you never were that stupid. Your prayers are being answered."_

"Shut up!" he cries desperately. "Stop it! You can't tell him!"

 _"Fire Lord Zuko, there is still hope!"_

His shoulders slump. "No," he whispers. "Not for me. There was never any hope for me."

 _"My Lord-"_

"Please, Uncle, don't call me that! I'm your nephew, just your nephew," he chokes, reaching out.

Uncle turns away, doesn't look at him. _"As your majesty has wished, so has he done."_

"Uncle? Uncle!"

The Blue Dragon chuckles darkly.

 _"There's no such thing as a happy ending."_

"Please," he whispers, as the red dragon fades out of existence and white hot tears burn their way down his face.

 _"Sleep now, Fire Lord Zuko."_

The ground shakes underneath him and all his soldiers collapse into empty piles of armor. Terror gnaws at him and he searches desperately for Uncle but he's _gone_ and then there's nothing, nothing but two glowing, menacing eyes, and slowly the Blue Dragon materializes around them.

 _"Sleep."_

With a slow growing horror he realizes that the Blue Dragon has been Azula all along.

 _"Just like Mother!"_

He stiffens with shock, but the Blue Dragon is moving and he isn't fast enough, fangs flash and rip through his feeble body, and all he sees is blackness, and then _Mother_ is there, and she's crying for him but he has no voice or body, and he can't respond and she's gone in the blink of an eye, and then there's a rush of wind and everything fades into nothing.

* * *

 _Falling forever, chasing dreams; I brought you to life so I can hear you scream_

* * *

 _"You're going through a metamorphosis, my nephew."_

Uncle's voice fades in and out, and Zuko isn't present enough to be able to make more than the most basic responses. All he knows is that _Uncle doesn't know yet_ and that in itself is a blessing.

 _"It will not be a pleasant experience . . ._ "

Iroh is still speaking, but he's mopping Zuko's brow, and he closes his eyes and focuses on the cool droplets spreading across his forehead.

 _"Beautiful prince . . . always meant to be . . . "_

* * *

He sits bolt upright, fingers pressed into scarred flesh and it's a disturbing mixture of relief and disappointment that curls in his belly because the _scar_ is still there, and _somehow_ he is still breathing.

* * *

 _Every passing day is a waste you can't replace_

* * *

 **11/29/15**


	6. Chapter 6

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us_

* * *

He can't stop shivering.

It's not so much that he's cold, although he often finds a blanket to be his best remedy. No, it's that he can't get that stupid dream out of his head. Can't stop picturing the betrayal in Uncle's eyes, seeing him turn his back on Zuko.

 _"As your majesty has wished, so has he done."_

And that just wasn't _fair._ It's not _his_ fault, he never chose this - his fate has been set in stone as long as he can remember. His sickness is a curse that he has no control over; he's the victim of a statistic, just a number on a page.

 _Haven't I suffered enough? Haven't I bled enough? What haven't I given?_

Still he sees those eyes again and again and they _burn_ his insides, white hot guilt piercing his soul. It makes him furious, because he shouldn't feel guilty over this. He _shouldn't_ , damn it. He's fought so hard and so long and never once has he caved, never once did he find the courage or cowardice - he no longer sees a difference - to put an end to it all. Sure, he's thought about it - who wouldn't? But he's never acted on that impulse. _He_ is the victim.

But he can't stop seeing it, so he wears a smile as his mask - a new one, one that fits perfectly over half his face - and he gets out of bed for his uncle's grand opening even though his joints ache even worse than before and it feels like there's something tearing inside his lungs.

Uncle's face is worth it, though.

Zuko thinks he ought to give the old man more moments like this while he still can.

He takes frequent breaks and tells Uncle that he's just still exhausted from being sick. Which is, technically, true. Uncle pats his shoulder and fills him up with some herbal concoction that Zuko didn't care to listen to the description of, and he grudgingly admits - to himself - that it _is_ helping alleviate the ripping pain in his chest.

No way is he going to feed the tea monster that his uncle is becoming.

* * *

At one point he swears he sees a flash of blue in the doorway. Even though it's getting close to sundown and the dizziness is starting to get to him, he's _certain_ he it was there. He thinks briefly of the waterbender who follows the Avatar - where the monk is, she's never far away - but an hour passes and no water whips are tossing him around or Dai Lee agents encroaching on the building, so Zuko sighs and focuses on not wobbling as he walks.

Despite being utterly exhausted, he actually is proud of the work he's done today. Maybe it's the new open, airy shop, maybe it's that the people are now prim and polite and proper instead of the refugees that scarcely have rags to cover their backs, but Zuko actually thinks for a moment that if he weren't practically on his deathbed he might like this peace and prosperity thing.

As it is though, it's pretty miserable.

Sunset is a sweet relief, and he lets out a heavy sigh as the last customer lingers at the counter, singing Uncle's praises. After a few minutes of the same old _this is amazing how do you do it I've never tasted anything like it_ \- which is ridiculous, it's just boiled leaves. there's nothing _special_ about it - he finds a broom and sweeps off the porch while he waits for the old lady to bugger off so he can go to bed. He's almost finished when a guard - _upper class livery, he must be from he palace -_ approaches, and Zuko freezes with panic.

But he only hands Uncle Iroh a scroll, and departs just as quickly.

"I . . . I can't believe it."

Worry creasing his brow, that flash of _blue_ coming to mind again, he walks over to Uncle's side. "What is it, Uncle?"

Uncle's face splits into a enormous grin after perusing it, and Zuko tries to focus on what it looks like, what Uncle is like, because if he remembers anything it should be this man who has given and suffered him more than he could ever deserve.

" _Great_ news! We've been invited to serve tea to the Earth King!"

He blinks in surprise, hardly noticing as the old biddy _finally_ scurries away.

He must have served someone very important today.

 _It's probably a good thing,_ he decides, _that Uncle didn't let me help with the brewing._

He watches Uncle putter off to the back of the shop, probably to start putting together a sampler of his best brews, feeling oddly satisfied. It's a strange feeling, when he can feel his body as it slowly eats away at itself and his head aches and his vision is starting to swim.

Slowly, he trudges up the stairs, takes off his uniform, and chokes up a mouthful of blood.

* * *

 _Every beginning is just an ending waiting to happen._

* * *

 **11/30/15**

 **A/N: a guest asked what the dragons mean if Zuko isn't destined to become Fire Lord; so to answer, the two dragons (to me at least) represent the two warring halves of his personality, especially given that they bear the voices of the two living people who influence Zuko the most profoundly and directly over the course of his life. The visions aren't prophetic so much as revealing of Zuko's state of mind and the forces of his nature that he gravitates between.**

 **Hope that clears up some confusion.**


	7. Chapter 7

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _So sacrifice yourself, and let me have what's left_

* * *

Prince Zuko is wearing his very best clothes and is scrubbed clean and has stuffed a bunch of rags up his sleeves to hide the crimson that keeps burbling up into his mouth, but he still feels incredibly exposed and uneasy. He and Uncle have been sitting here waiting for _far_ too long and every instinct he possesses is screaming at him to _just get out_ of here as fast as he possibly can.

So when a ring of Dai Lee begin to close around them and he recalls that flash of blue, he murmurs his apprehension.

"It's tea time."

And he knows that voice. Knows it down to his bones.

 _"Azula!"_

He's on his feet as fast as he can muster, even though he has absolutely no hope of taking her now, not alone and certainly not outnumbered like they are. He's too weak; they're dead meat-

"Have you met the Dai Lee?" She's unconcerned, a predator closing in on helpless prey, flawless grace to her every movement and her attitude nonchalant. "They're earthbenders, but they have a killer instinct that is so _firebender_ \- I just _love_ it!"

His heart is about to pound out of his chest, he doesn't see a way out of this, but Uncle calmly stands and sips at his tea. Too calmly.

"Did I ever tell you how I got the nickname 'Dragon of the West'?"

His sister rolls her eyes and inspects her nails. "I'm not interested in a lengthy anecdote, Uncle."

"It's more of a demonstration, really."

Zuko's lips quirk, and he ducks as Uncle belches fire, dispersing the earthbenders surrounding them with one fell swoop of breath. Even in the middle of fighting for his life, he finds that trick ridiculously amusing.

Then they are running, running down green hallways, and there's earth flying and flames roaring, but Zuko's mind wanders, gut plummeting and hands growing cold as a terrible, terrible solution presents itself. His fingers tremble. Uncle blasts away a wall and leaps to freedom, but Zuko hesitates. He won't survive that fall without broken bones, not in this state, and he knows it. He'll just be a deadweight, and Uncle will never leave him behind.

He is a coward, but he'll never sacrifice Uncle.

He's figured out his own definition of honor.

"Come on! You'll be fine!"

A terrible, terrible solution . . . but it solves every problem.

"I'm tired of running," he hears himself say, turning away. "It's time I faced Azula."

He doesn't know how to say goodbye, so he says nothing at all.

"You're so dramatic," Azula purrs. "What are you going to do, challenge me to an Agni Kai?"

"Yes." His tongue is heavy, like his mouth is full of lead. "But only on two conditions."

That gives her pause, a dark brow quirked. "And what might those be?"

He swallows the copper that scratches the back of his throat and make him want to hack and cough until he's curled up on the floor, and adjusts his stance. "First, you let Uncle go." Her look of interest flatlines, and he stutters - falter now and he'll have sacrificed everything for nothing. "He's just a harmless old man; all he cares about is his stupid tea. He doesn't have any interest in power or war anymore."

"Interested or not, he's a traitor to the crown and I have a direct order from Father himself-"

"You'll talk him out of it. Change his mind. He listens to you." He'd be bitter, but he's too busy trying to win her over.

She sighs, picking at her nails again. "And the second condition?"

For a moment he can't force his mouth to work. "The second condition . . . is that you'll kill me. In the Agni Kai."

For the first time in his life, he sees Azula shocked speechless; her eyes round and lips slightly parted and her mask of lies for once cast aside. If he wasn't in the middle of bargaining for his death, he'd have crowed with triumph. But he is, and he mostly has to focus on not vomiting or throwing up blood all over his baby sister because he's sick and the deal he's striking is making him sicker.

"Are you sure you said that correctly?"

Her voice is barely more than a whisper, and he notices the earthbenders surrounding them look _distinctly_ uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken.

"Yes," he manages. "I want you to kill me."

She is _balking._

Zuko expects many things from her, but not this.

"It solves everyone's problems," he explains, desperate to get her to listen. "I'll never be able to get in your way or challenge you for the throne again, or shame our family, and Uncle will be able to live peacefully and quietly like he wants."

Her eyes narrow. "And you?"

"I . . . I . . . " he stutters, uncertain. " . . . I won't have to live . . . like this . . . anymore. As a traitor. An outcast."

Studying him intently, Azula's lips purse, calculating. "You? Giving up? That isn't like you at all. I'd almost thing all this time among these barbarians has broken you . . . or that you've got something nasty hidden up your sleeve."

"No, I -" he chokes, battling down a cough that will expose him for what he is.

"Save it."

"I'm _begging_ you, Azula!" His knees give out and the ground scrapes his palms, but it doesn't matter because he's _failed_.

"Are you actually arrogant enough to think I owe you anything?"

"An honorable death. And Uncle's freedom. That's all I'm asking! We'll never get in your way again!"

She steps daintily closer, expression haughty. "You lost this conversation the moment you assumed you could ever be a threat to me."

 _No, no, no, no, no!_

"Please," his voice breaks, and suddenly he's vividly reminded of a day three years ago on his knees. A day he died. Today he should die. Why won't she let him?

"You're nothing, Zuko," she breathes, "nothing but a pebble under my shoe. And even if you were a threat, you should know me better than that. I don't kill my enemies. I _destroy_ them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another traitor to catch, and an Avatar to bait."

Azula waves a hand and the earth swallows his hands.

"Get him out of my sight."

 _"Coward!"_ he screams over the rising panic. _"Liar!"_

She blinks, unperturbed. "Do yourself a favor, Zuzu, and _shut up._ "

The earth moves, and everything goes black, tears of desperation still stinging the corners of his eyes.

* * *

Princess Azula, heir apparent to Fire Lord Ozai, master of blue flame and lightning, frowns at her brother's unconscious form, disturbed and shaken.

 _That shouldn't have knocked him out so easily._

She's furious, inside. _How dare he ask that of me. Does he really believe I'd actually just kill him in cold blood?_

He asked her to kill him. Not murder, death during an Agni Kai is not a crime. But he'd _asked her to kill him._

And lied about why.

She takes him in, this gaunt, desperate skeleton with shaking hands and bruised eyes. He barely looks human - or alive - at all. She'd initially, upon first encountering him, attributed it to his three years of ceaseless wandering, and every time since, as he deteriorated further, to the months spent as a penniless refugee. But now she is wondering; because he is _too_ thin and _too_ desperate and there's something unshakably _wrong_ when she looks at him.

There's barely anything left of the the brother that she disdains, yet misses.

Pulling the dagger he'd had concealed in his sleeve free, she drags it along his unmarred cheek, coating the blade with brilliant crimson.

"Ty Lee?"

The acrobat pokes her head into the hallway. "Yes, Azula?"

"Get this to our medic, immediately."

She hands the girl the knife, ignoring her squeamish _eep_ and concerned glance at Zuko's body, and strides away with a confidence that perfectly masks the screaming fourteen year old girl underneath whose brother has just asked her to take his life.

"Put him in the Catacombs."

* * *

 _I'm going all the way, get away, please_

* * *

 **12/01/15**


	8. Chapter 8

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _God help me, I've come undone_

* * *

Feeling as though he's surfacing from a pool of murky water, pain growing more real the closer he drifts towards consciousness, Zuko slowly begins to become aware of his surroundings.

 _Cold._ He's laying - sprawled, really - on cold dirt, cheek smushed against the ground. His fingers twitch and curl as he tries to shift, sending uncomfortable prickles all through his limbs.

He's been laying like this for awhile.

Unwilllingly, he cracks his good eye open. Luminescent green nearly blinds him, and he shudders, scrubbing at his lid. He's in some sort of cave, glowing green growing crystals sprouting from nearly every surface. The light makes his head throb, and his throat burns.

He sees it again. The flash of blue.

Ever so slowly, he forces himself to pick his head up.

There she is, dozing against the far wall.

Zuko doesn't have time to figure out what he thinks about that, exactly, because he's overwhelmed with a half-cough, half-retch that leaves him shaking, blood and spit dripping from his mouth. Blinking slowly, he's disgusted and fascinated to see a small pool of red in the dirt between his palms. Red, and what looks disturbingly like . . . tissue.

Lung tissue, specifically.

"Are you alright?"

Glancing up, the waterbender is awake now, looking wary, but extremely concerned. He must look a sight, bedraggled and filthy and exhausted, with red spit clinging to his lips, and trembling so badly his arms can barely hold him up.

He doesn't want her to see this.

Really, he doesn't want anyone to see it; no one is supposed to know. It's just always been that way. He just feels like something horrible will happen if he tells anyone. Plus, he really, really doesn't need any more condescending pity.

But if someone doesn't come for one of them sometime soon she may literally have to watch him _die_ in front of her.

Zuko doesn't imagine that'll be fun to watch. He doesn't _think_ she hates him _that_ much. Though he could be wrong. It's not like he can really blame her; he admits he's done some _awful_ things.

Another fit of coughing seizes him, and there's more crimson dripping onto the ground and he unsteadily wipes him mouth on his sleeve, lays down before his elbows can give out on him.

The waterbender looks scared now.

Closing his eyes, he concentrates on breathing, taking big, slow gulps of air and trying to ignore that tearing sensation that comes with every movement of his chest. After a few minutes, he manages to relax enough that the urge to heave isn't overpowering, and the shaking gradually lessens.

"Why did they throw you in here?"

She sounds angry, and afraid. He opens his eyes, sees her arms wrapped around her knees. He doesn't really have an answer, so he doesn't respond.

"This is just another plot to trick me into trusting you so you can get to Aang, isn't it?"

 _Sure_ , he thinks, scowling, _I'm actually just throwing up beet-melon juice._

She stands, seemingly enraged by his lack of response. "You're a horrible person, you know that? Always following us, hunting the Avatar, trying to capture the world's last hope for peace!"

His eyes fix on the ceiling of the cage, familiar bitterness rushing through him veins.

"But what do you care? You're the Fire Lord's _son._ Spreading war and violence and hatred is in your blood." She spits, and suddenly he's angry, so angry that somehow he finds the energy to push himself back up onto his hands and knees.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't?!"

"No," he says. "You don't. You have no idea why I did all the things I did, and you have no idea what's in my blood."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

"How dare you! You have no idea what this war has put me through. Me, personally!"

"This war is not my fault!" His voice cracks and he's coughing again, his throat raw and his chest burning inside. There's flecks of blood all over his hands and his vision is blurring again, and suddenly she's kneeling in front of him, eyes wide.

What exactly he's supposed to feel about this, he has no idea, but suddenly she's very close and he's extremely exposed, but she doesn't care, she's _inspecting_ him with those wide eyes and tentatively she places a hand against his forehead.

"You're . . . hot."

He bats her hand away, feeling strangely humiliated.

Her eyes narrow. "Well, excuse me."

 _"Leave me alone."_

"You're either very hurt or very sick and I'm not going to just sit here and watch you choke yourself to death."

He swallows, scrubbing his mouth with the hem of his sleeve.

"You don't really have an option."

Her eyes go wide, whatever protests she'd been about to make forgotten.

He shouldn't have told her that. Zuko curses himself silently; somehow she makes him admit things he's never told another soul.

Drained, he scoots against the wall, lets his eyes drift shut. He hears her settle down a little beside him, a whisper of cloth and a sigh.

"The Fire Nation took my mother away from me." Quiet, almost a whisper.

There's a stab of sadness and sympathy in his heart, and he whispers, "Mine too."

* * *

 _Out of the light of the sun_

* * *

 **12/02/15**


	9. Chapter 9

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _There is nothing left of you_

* * *

"Whenever I tried to picture the enemy . . . I always saw you."

"I . . . see." That stings a little; he knows he's ugly, but does everyone have to rub it in all the time? His hand drifts unconsciously towards his face - the mutilated half, the _scarred_ half - and he hates the way she makes him honest. Usually he reserves honestly for his own mind, because the truth is so _ugly_ he just doesn't want anyone else to have to bear it.

If he is the darkness, she must be the light, because she's exposing him, fighting him, _defining_ him, and she's so open, she's like the key to his locked door.

If he had any hope of living, he thinks he would have liked to know her better. He hopes maybe she would have liked to know him, too.

But none of that matters, because it's too late for him now.

"No," she says, reaching out, "that's not what I meant."

His lip curls. "You don't have to lie to me. I wear it every day. I _know_ how hideous it is."

The depth of the sadness in those eyes makes him feel like he's drowning, so he averts his eyes, feeling strangely ashamed.

"Really. That's not why." Her hand retracts, folds in her lap. "You just . . . from the first day, you showed up . . . and it was just like when . . . when they . . ." She trails off, and there are tears swimming in her eyes and she's biting her lip. Understanding hits him, and his head falls with shame.

"The Southern Raiders."

She's looking at him now. " . . . you . . . know?"

"Everyone _knew_ ," he shrugs apologetically, wishing things were different. "I was a kid, then; we read about it in school like it happened a thousand years ago. They just . . . they make all of this war seem so normal and sensible, like it's the only reasonable answer, and then I left and saw all this . . . though to be honest, I never really _saw_ most of it until recently."

"My mother is _dead,"_ she says, bitterness in her red - rimmed eyes. "And you thought it was _necessary."_

"I had _nothing_ to do with it. Do you understand that? I was a _child."_

 _"I was, too!_ "

"What do you want from me? An apology? _Sorry_ won't bring her back. The man who ordered those raids has been dead and gone for the last six years. There's not-" he chokes, coughing, "-hing I can do."

Some of the intensity fades from her glare, and she slumps.

"I know. I'm . . . sorry."

He folds his hands. "It doesn't matter."

"It does, though."

"No, it doesn't."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because," he snaps, irritation building in him, "nothing matters. Everything is pointless."

She looks deeply sad.

 _"What?"_

"You don't have any hope left, do you?"

He's never known anyone who could _understand_ him so completely before, and the vulnerability shames and scares him, because she's looking at his soul and there's _so much darkness_ that he knows could never ever be brought to light. He doesn't even need to answer, because she can see it in his eyes.

She frowns, eyes casting at the ground in front of them.

"What if I could . . . give you some?"

He blinks, swinging his head towards her so fast his vision spins.

"What?"

She shrugs nervously, pulling a thin cord from around her neck and holding out a small blue vial. "I have healing abilities. I could try to . . . " she flushes, "you know . . . fix your eye."

His gut sinks. "It's _scarred._ It's too late for that."

"This is water from the Spirit Oasis at the North Pole. Remember, where you snuck up on me and -"

"I'm sorry," he interjects quickly. "About that."

She coughs, flushing. " . . . anyway. The water has some special properties, so I've been saving it for something important. I don't know if it would work, but . . . I have hope."

He swallows, trying to squash the surge of brightness in his chest, because there's _no way_ , but something in him wants her to be right, wants her to have a reason to keep shining, so slowly he nods, and closes his eyes, feels her press her fingertips to his cheek, and he makes himself just _breathe_ , because there's something fluttering in his chest that he's never felt before, and he wants to cling to this moment, drag it out forever, because this is a feeling he never wants to lose.

Being _understood. Accepted._

If he wasn't about to die, he might think he was a little in love.

But he is, and there's no room for all these _if only's,_ so he just breathes.

She's about to move, her fingers tense, when suddenly the wall caves and there's two figures blinking away the cloud of dust, and Zuko panics, discretely burns off the ends of his sleeves behind his back, because one of them is _Uncle._

* * *

 _I can see it in your eyes_

* * *

 **12/03/15**


	10. Chapter 10

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _In the end, you have to decide what kind of person you're going to be - and then you have to live by it_

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

"Saving _you_ , that's what."

Zuko growls, that goody-goody airhead has _no right_ to be glaring at him and hugging the girl away as though he's been _hurting_ her. He's done absolutely nothing to the waterbender - if anything, she was antagonizing _him_. But Uncle catches him by the shoulders, and he has to fight not to double over at the flare of pain where the old man's arm hits his chest, and Uncle tells the Avatar to go find his other friends, and Zuko feels so _betrayed_ in that instant.

Although, that's not really fair of him, considering just a few days ago he'd intentionally freed the boy's bison.

But he doesn't really feel rational at the moment. Actually, he mostly just feels like curling up and the floor and throwing up some more of his insides.

It isn't really a pleasant desire.

But the Avatar leaves without a word, and so does the waterbender - he realizes he never got to ask her name - and as she glances back at him his heart breaks a little at how her light dims.

 _"Why,_ Uncle?"

Iroh puts a hand on his shoulder, weighing him down so heavily his knees nearly buckle.

"You are not the man you used to be, Zuko. You are stronger and wiser and freer than you have ever been!"

 _That's a lie._

"And now you have come to the crossroads of your destiny. It's time for you to choose. It's time for you to choose good! I _know_ you have it in you, nephew. Three months ago I never would have thought you capable of the courage it took to free that bison instead of trying to use it to capture the Avatar. But you _did._ I can't even tell you how proud I was!" Uncle's arm swings wide, imploring him with desperate eyes, and Zuko can't help but glance at him from the corner of his good eye. "Even after years of only seeing the darkest parts of the world, you still had the strength to let go of the chains that have weighed you down for so long and do what is _right._ Don't throw that away now!"

He squeezes his eyes shut, guilt and pain eating at him.

"You're wrong, Uncle. I'm not. I just . . . I can't." He hates the way his voice is always breaking when he needs it to be strong the most.

"Zuko. I'm _begging_ you. You don't have to bound by Ozai's hatred anymore."

Zuko clutches his head, wishing everything would just _go away_ and that for once Uncle would understand; would actually _listen_ to what he's saying, because he's tried a thousand times and Uncle never hears him. The words burble up in his throat, all of the horrible truth of what he is, but he can't bring himself to say them, can't admit _why._ His breathing is ragged, every gulp of precious air burning his insides and the pain and panic are nearly overwhelming him, and he looks away as he chokes back the urge to retch.

And he thanks the spirits that Azula chooses now to enter, her Dai Lee smashing through another wall, because it means he doesn't have to answer.

* * *

 _How do you want to be remembered?_

* * *

 **12/04/15**


	11. Chapter 11

**In-Extremis**

 ** _to be at the point of death_**

* * *

 _Nothing in life is easy. Not even death._

* * *

Sharp green crystals burst from the earth, trapping Uncle. Ashamed of how glad he is for the distraction, Zuko raises his hands defensively, glares at his sister.

His right cheek stings sharply.

"I'd have expected this kind of treachery from Uncle," Azula sniffs, striding forward, "but Zuko, _Prince_ Zuko...you're a lot of things, but you're not a traitor. _Are you_?"

"Release him immediately," he snaps, voice suddenly steady.

"It's not too late for you Zuko," she croons, expression pleading. Too bad she taught him how to read her lies. "You can still redeem yourself."

 _No,_ he thinks sadly. _It_ is _too late. Ten years too late._

"The kind of redemption she offers is not for you."

"Why don't you let him decide, Uncle?"

Again. She's always snapping at him whenever she's trying to get Zuko to do things for her. It bothers him more than ever. But she continues, ignoring the old man, her fist held up triumphantly and her voice sultry. "I _need_ you, Zuko. I've plotted every move of this day, this _glorious_ day in Fire Nation history. And the only way we win, is _together._ At the end of this day, you will have your honor back. You will have father's love. You will have everything you want."

 _I'm not going to live to see the end of this day either way._

"Zuko, I am _begging_ you. Look into your heart and see what it is that you truly want."

He looks at Azula. He looks at Uncle. He thinks of the dragons from his dreams.

He thinks about the waterbender girl who's soul is made of light and hope.

 _What I want . . . I can never have. No one can give it to me. Not Azula, not Uncle, not Father, not the waterbender._

"You are free to choose," Azula says, magnanimously waving her hand and strutting past him.

Towards the other hole in the wall. Towards the Avatar.

Towards the waterbender.

No matter what happens tonight, he hopes those deep blue eyes never stop shining.

* * *

He's finally moving, picked up his feet, following the monk and the waterbender and the princess. He doesn't know how long he stood there, reflecting silently, trying not to look at Uncle's pleading eyes, drawn after the trio of opposites like a moth to the flame.

Explosions and crashes and water splashing echo around him as he draws nearer to the source, the sounds making his head throb as they reverberate through his skull. His gait is hardly steady, but somehow he manages to keep moving, stopping several times as he collapses to the ground, coughing and spasming so hard he feels as though the insides of his throat will tear.

Each pool of red he leaves behind is larger than the last.

Zuko knows he will not feel the sun rise again.

But somehow he keeps going.

When he finally rounds the last corner, he's confronted with the scene of the massive battle. Apparently Azula caught up to them before they could escape the caves. Zuko doesn't know how deep they are, but either they're very, very far from the surface, or it's nighttime.

Azula stands not fifteen feet in front of him, her back to her brother. The waterbender hovers over a large pond, tentacles of water whipping around her like a gigantic octopus. The Avatar is - predictably - flying through the air, a maelstrom of sharp green spikes hurtling along, guided down towards their target by curled fingers.

His sister adeptly dodges and ducks the projectiles, returning fire with waves of crackling blue. The waterbender, whipping out at the princess, catches Azula's ankle and drags her halfway across the cavern before she can sever the tentacle with another precise blast.

Zuko watches, mesmerized.

Azula whirls towards the waterbender, closing in and managing to unleash a blast that evaporates her defenses, slamming into the girl and knocking her singed form into a wall.

She doesn't get up.

Chills rush through his veins.

The Avatar lets out a terrible cry, dropping to the earth. Azula smirks, triumph written all over her smug expression. She has the monk practically in the bag now.

Zuko can't bring himself to move; doesn't know what he would even do. He just keeps watching, utterly transfixed.

Desperate, angry terror fills the airbender's face as his eyes dart from the waterbender's now - stirring form to the princess waiting with victory in her sights.

Finally, the boy turns, turns his back on _Azula_ , and Zuko nearly screams at him, but the boy sits on the ground and encases himself in glowing green spikes, and Azula waits, brow quirked. _Predatory_.

Zuko still can't move, every breath silently burning his insides.

Katara turns her head, pushing herself onto her hands and knees, sees him.

She looks so afraid.

Then there's a powerful blast of wind and power and Zuko is thrown against the wall behind him, every bit of air knocked out of him as he gasps on the floor, eyes wide.

A beam of light radiates up from the now open crystal cocoon, the Avatar hovering in the air, eyes and tattoos glowing an earthly white.

Katara is smiling, relieved.

Azula's smirk deepens.

Somehow he knows - _he knows_ \- what she's about to do; the whole world moving in slow motion as he somehow finds his feet, running running _running_. He doesn't care about the Avatar, he doesn't care about Azula, he just can't let her do this, can't let her _scar_ the boy the way he is scarred, because he is a monster and a freak and an outcast and this burning hatred of himself is something that no one else should _ever_ feel, should _ever_ have to live even a day of. He won't let her make that boy like _him_.

He can't really feel anything, as he closes, as her fingers curl, as they stretch, as the lightning strikes. Strikes him. He wasn't fast enough to catch it . . . but he was fast enough to get in the way.

Then he feels everything, like all the suffering he's ever endured in his whole life compiled into a single strike, and he's _burning alive_ , energy crackling through his body and he spasms uncontrollably, unable to hold back the screams that have been trapped inside him for so long, screaming until his throat is so raw and he thinks he's disintegrating, it's _just too much_ , and his face hurts the worst, his face burns like the day of the Agni Kai multiplied by a thousand. He can't see anything, his vision pulsing black and white and red as he thrashes, helpless to control his own limbs.

Screams echo in his ears, and it takes forever for him to realize they're no longer coming from him. But he can't see anything, can only wash away helplessly with this tide of agony as his grip on this world slowly but surely erodes.

This isn't how he thought he'd die.

But he's glad, because now Uncle will never know - he'll never have to face the man who gave him everything and see his lies uncovered.

Everything begins to fade to blackness and he embraces it with everything he is, because this twisted story is finally ending and he's waited such a long time for this sweet nothing to claim him.

The last things that cross his mind are shining blue eyes full of tears, and Uncle Iroh, weeping silently.

* * *

 _To save a soul, abandon the earth_

* * *

 **12/05/15**


	12. Chapter 12

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _So I'll stay unforgiven_

* * *

She stares at the spasming form before her, his screams rattling her bones. Smoke curls from her still outstretched fingers, numbness radiating from her chest and holding her frozen in place.

 _He got in the way._

 _Why did he get in the way?_

Azula's eyes are wide, her lips parted, her hands shaking as slow, creeping horror spreads through her veins.

She has just murdered her brother.

Zuko is _dying._

On the ground in front of her, writhing, ragged gasps escaping him and blood burbling up from his lips, Zuko is dying. _Dying_. And it's her fault. Behind her, the water tribe peasant girl screams, horrified, but she can't look away.

 _It wasn't supposed to be like this._

Terror and denial war in her head, and she can't think, can't breathe, can't feel. _He was supposed to come with me!_

Suddenly, a blast of air and earth and water hits her, and she's flying, back smashing against the far wall, and she collapses, limp as a doll, as the Avatar slowly descends, glow fading, but none of it matters because _Zuko is dead_ and _I murdered him._

Somehow she manages to push herself to her feet, runs and runs, back through the tunnel and past Uncle Iroh as he breaks free from his crystal prison, running and running _away_ and the panic and shame aren't something she's ever felt before and they _terrify_ her.

 _I killed Zuko._

 _Father is going to kill me._

She has lost Ba Sing Se.

* * *

Katara races forward, scrambling on weak legs towards the fallen firebender, heart pounding so hard she's afraid it will beat out of her chest. Collapsing on her knees, she grasps his wrists, holds him still, and slowly his resistance fades, and he slumps, going limp, and Katara is terrified, because she's seen so many things on her journey around the world, but no one has ever died. No one, and especially not Zuko. Anger wells inside her and she's crying, screaming at him for dying _now,_ when she actually _wants_ him to live. The line between enemy and ally is so completely blurred and she doesn't know what he is, she just sees the sadness in his eyes and the way they came back to life when she'd offered to heal him - so long ago, it seemed now.

 _"You can't die!"_

Nausea burbles in her stomach as she presses her hands against his shoulders, brushes singed cloth out of the way and she reels as she remembers that she _has_ seen death, seen the red droplets showered across the white, white snow and the gruesome, swollen, ashen flesh of her mother's corpse.

She flings a hand out behind her, summoning the water all around her without even a glance, pressing glowing blue against his heart as she sobs desperately.

There's a soft whimper, and she startles, head whipping up so fast she hurts her neck, but it doesn't matter because _she'd forgotten Aang._

The twelve-year-old airbender is white as a sheet, staring at the bloody, lacerated form of the boy who was once his nemesis.

" . . . _Aang,"_ she breathes, a fresh wave of tears spilling over.

His mouth moves, but he makes no sound for several minutes.

" . . . why did he do it?"

Katara's eyes are drawn back to Zuko's wan face, his lips brilliant crimson, a trickle of slowly drying blood trailing down his chin.

"I don't know, Aang," she whispers, freezing as she feels the slightest of pulses beneath her fingertips.

* * *

In all his years, Iroh, Dragon of the West, former Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, has never been more afraid.

Azula has _fled._

He's _never_ heard of Azula retreating.

Absolute silence reigns, the eerie lack of noise from the scene of the battle disturbing him deeply, so Iroh takes his time, dusts off his robes, walks slowly, afraid to find what his nephew has done.

He pretends he didn't hear those bloodcurdling screams.

He _believes_ in his nephew, after all.

But all too soon he's rounding the corner, stepping into the large cavern, and suddenly every bit of blood drains from his old body. His heart cracks and bleeds and he has never hated himself more, not when Lu Ten died, not when he looked away during that fateful Agni Kai.

His nephew is sprawled on the ground, most of his tunic incinerated, his chest a mass of swollen red and black, his face so pale, blood running from his lips.

And all Iroh can think is _I asked him to do this._

The waterbender kneels beside Zuko, pressing glowing water against the heart of the wound, and Avatar Aang hovers behind her, looking terrified and faint.

Then Iroh is running, hitting his knees beside the boy he dared to think he could call his own.

Zuko doesn't move. His eyes don't flicker as Iroh brushes his face, as he weeps and begs his brother's son to _wake up_ and to forgive his foolish old uncle.

The waterbender sobs, pulling more water from the pool and desperately pushing it against the burns.

"We need to get him out of here. He's still breathing . . . but just barely," the girl manages.

Iroh gathers himself, scoops the boy up, and there's a rumble beneath their feet as the Avatar strikes the earth, lifting them up on a stone pillar, and blasting away the ceiling.

 _Hold on, Zuko. Just hold on._

* * *

He's underwater. He can see the faintest hint of light filtering down from the surface, but there's blackness beneath him, seductive, alluring. It tugs at him, the nothingness; the desire to sink into the darkness where he belongs, but something holds him back, keeps him struggling towards the light.

There's something he's waiting for, some sort of closure before he can let go, although he doesn't know what it is.

 _"I can't even tell you how proud I was!"_

The red dragon coils around his drifting body, helping him float. There's no air and even though he's miles underneath the sea he feels so _dry,_ as though he's lost in a desert. Zuko recoils in shame.

"I didn't do it, Uncle. I never went there with the intent to capture the bison. I freed it out of spite. There's nothing to be proud of."

 _"Where there is life, there is pride."_

"There _isn't_ any life in me!" he snaps, hurt curdling inside him. "There's _never_ been any life in me."

 _"You have always fought bravely, against unbeatable odds and unbearable agony. While you fight, you live. Don't throw that away now!"_

"I fought for nothing, and I had nothing to gain or lose. I've just been waiting to burn out, and I try to tell you but you _never listen_!"

There's an incomprehensible sadness in Uncle's face.

 _"Your eyes have always been clouded by your own sorrows; can't you forgive an old man for his? It is you who despises indirectness, yet you expect me to interpret your convoluted meanings?"_

Chastened, Zuko stares down at the murky blackness below.

"I just couldn't say it," he whispers.

 _"We are all guilty of omissions, Nephew. Do not let them drag you under. If you sleep, sleep with all the peace you could never find in life."_

Uncle embraces him, and for once Zuko hugs him back, a sob escaping him.

"I love you, Uncle."

 _"You will always have my love, Prince Zuko."_

The light grows brighter and everything goes white.

* * *

 _I'll sleep close to heaven_

* * *

 **12/06/15**


	13. Chapter 13

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _I'm falling to pieces_

* * *

Everything moves in a blur as they rush back up and into the palace courtyard. There's screaming and booming and fighting all around as the king's guard clash with the Dai Lee, but neither Katara, Iroh, or Aang really notice, rushing towards the hospital wing. For a moment, Katara thinks she sees Toph knocking around some earthbenders, but she can't tear her mind away from her destination. Iroh is sprightly for a man as old as he is, somehow he keeps pace with them, Zuko lying limply in his arms like a broken doll.

She'll fix him. She doesn't know how, but she'll fix him. She _has_ to.

They throw open the doors with a mighty crash, Katara whipping the water from a nearby basin as Zuko's uncle lays him gently on a cot. White clad healers surge forward after a moment of shocked surprise; grabbing ointments and salves and bandages.

"More water!" she screams, desperately probing his wrist for the slightest hint of life.

 _There._

She throws herself into her healing, swollen tissue shrinking and becoming a less vibrant shade of crimson. _It's not enough,_ she thinks, probing deeper, searching for anything to strengthen that weak fluttering.

Although she's lost awareness of the world around her, of the healers desperately working to soothe what injury she wasn't monopolizing, she feels the shattered chi paths, where the energy wreaked havoc with his nervous system. She traces the channels, willing desperately for her touch to reach deep enough, and slowly she begins to feel response, _something_ inside him obeying her will.

She's no longer drawing on the strength of water, the beads under her fingertips rolling off his chest and into the sheets, somehow she's manipulating something _inside_ him, harder to control, but slowly and surely repairing shattered pools of energy.

Before she knows it, Aang brushes her shoulder, gestures towards the window, at the rising sun. Startled, she stares for a long minute, then back at the unconscious firebender.

Though his pulse is slightly stronger, he doesn't stir, his skin still so white and his thick, dark hair tangled and face gaunt.

Something tells her there's nothing more she can do.

Katara collapses, adrenaline finally gone, weeping.

Aang wraps his skinny arms around her, and she buries her face in his shoulder.

* * *

Toph and Sokka have been wandering the palace for hours, the battle long won.

"I'm telling you," Sokka snarls, "we let that old firebender run off with Aang, and neither of them _or_ Katara have been seen or heard from since! Something's not right!"

Toph stops.

"Toph?"

"You're right, Sokka," she says quietly. Soberly. "Something's not right at all."

She bursts into a sprint, taking a left and slamming through a large set of doors.

Katara is sitting on the floor, sobbing in Aang's arms. Iroh sits on a cot, weeping silently over a body.

 _Zuko's body._

Both of them stand in silent shock.

Slowly, Sokka steps forward, pulls Aang out of the way. Katara's red eyes meet his, and then Sokka has her in his arms and she's crying even harder, so Sokka squeezes his baby sister tight.

"I can't do it, Sokka, I can't save him," she hiccups.

Toph sits beside them and watches the sun rise with blind eyes.

* * *

Iroh is choked with guilt and sorrow and fear.

 _If I hadn't asked him . . . he wouldn't be dying right now._

 _Why_ did it have to be now that Zuko listened? Iroh wishes desperately now that he'd sided with Azula instead, because he'd still be alive and not laid out before him like he's already dead. Stubborn, willful, determined Zuko.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, his nephew certainly has a talent for screwing up at spectacularly bad moments.

He'd always known it would come back to haunt him someday.

Brushing dark hair from his forehead, Iroh studies the boy lying motionlessly beside him. Had Zuko's cheeks been this gaunt yesterday morning? Had the dark, bruise-like circle beneath his good eye been there before Azula caught him? He looks impossibly small, so frail, every breath a ragged, uneven gasp.

How had he missed all this? Zuko is wasted away, barely anything more than bones and skin, a mere shadow of the boy he'd been that day back at the South Pole where he'd first spotted a beam of unearthly light. _How?_

 _Because you taught him to hide weakness._

 _Has being trapped in this city really stripped so much of his spirit away?_ He'd noticed Zuko had been less . . . well, less _there._ Unbidden, memories of days without a single word passing from his nephew's lips without it being dragged from him, of sitting in the corner quietly, of curling up by the windows for hours at a time.

He'd convinced himself it was unimportant; after all, Zuko had spent so much of his time when he wasn't drilling furiously or chasing down the Avatar holed up in his room doing the spirits only knew what, that Iroh had really had no idea what his nephew's habits or hobbies might be.

A terrible thought strikes him, and he reels silently.

 _He spent so much time and energy throwing himself at his bending, trying to force himself to master it . . . and we came here, where he couldn't bend at all, for fear of death._ Iroh shudders. He'd never considered the effect being restrained from connecting to his element might have on Zuko. But there were stories . . . tales of madness and insanity and souls wasting away at being cut off from their bending. He'd never seen it himself, and hadn't paid any mind, but . . . what other explanation could there be?

Dully, he lifts his head, taking no comfort in the cold light of the sun.

Twice, he has come to this city.

Twice, it has cost him his child.

 _Forgive me, Zuko._

Bitter tears drip down his cheeks.

Something coils in his chest, and Iroh's resolve solidifies.

The Dragon of the West will have his vengeance.

Iroh rises silently, squeezing Zuko's cold fingers, marches away to war.

* * *

 _No longer defeated_

* * *

 **12/06/15**


	14. Chapter 14

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _Holding the hand that holds me down_

* * *

Someone is clutching his fingers.

It feels as though there's an ocean in his lungs; every breath he takes rasps and gurgles in the back of his throat and he is so _hot_. His entire chest - inside and out - is a mass of pain, and he feels so _heavy_. He's dully reminded of how sick he'd gotten after storming Lake Laogai, but this is a thousand times worse. His eyes itch and he can't open them, as though his lids have been glued together, the very air around him oppressive. There's an ache deep in his bones, a throbbing sensation inside his skull.

"Zuko?"

The voice is muted, as though speaking through a door, but he hears it and he struggles to lift his hand. Someone places a wet cloth over his eyes, gently works away the crust that's keeping them shut. When it's lifted he struggles to open them, the room flickering and spinning around him.

"My nephew."

Uncle's voice cracks, and it's so like himself that Zuko smiles, a weak, flickering expression, because somewhere deep inside there's a little bit of him in Uncle Iroh.

But Uncle's head is bowed with shame, tears running down his face, and Zuko swallows dryly.

"I am so, _so sorry._ "

There's a silence, a silence where there aren't any words to bridge the gap, but Zuko searches for them anyway, because Uncle deserves the truth.

"Uncle, it's not your fault."

"I did not listen to you. I dragged you to this place, where you were clearly miserable, and refused to let myself see it. I cut you off from your element. I ignored your apathy, disregarded when you said something was wrong right before Azula caught you. I abandoned you to her, and then I bullied you into making a decision that has cost you everything. No, nephew, let the blame lie where it belongs. This old fool has avoided more than his fair share of retribution."

"Uncle."

He doesn't answer.

"It was what I wanted."

 _"Why?"_ he chokes, and Zuko's heart rips into tiny pieces. " _Why_ would you want to throw your life away?"

Tears burn his eyes as he struggles with himself, because push has come to shove and he _still_ can't bring himself to say it. His chest heaves and suddenly he's coughing, the harsh rasp rattling the inside of his head as he chokes up the evidence of his worthlessness.

Uncle pats his back, holds his shoulders. Everything is fading, and he manages to whisper.

"I had nothing to throw away."

Uncle shakes his shoulders gently. "Zuko? _Zuko!"_

"I . . . love you, Uncle," he rasps, lids growing heavy.

Sleep claims him, exhaustion taking its toll.

* * *

 _I forgive you, forget you, the end_

* * *

 **12/06/15**

Breaking Benjamin - Without You

 **This chapter is officially dedicated to this song. Please listen to it. I beg you.**

 **~Evil**


	15. Chapter 15

**In-Extremis**

 ** _to be at the point of death_**

* * *

 _Stay alive, heaven holds a place for us tonight_

* * *

Katara moves silently, glowing blue probing under her hands for _anything,_ anything at all that she has missed.

She won't let him die. She won't fail him. She's older, wiser, stronger, more powerful. She can _do_ something, this time.

She will save him, because she couldn't save her mother, and it will take a thousand souls to ever appease the guilt that crawls underneath her skin every time she looks in the mirror.

 _Don't die, Zuko. Don't die._

She can't watch him slip away.

* * *

 _Close your eyes, drive away the cloud that hides the light_

* * *

Azula's hands ball into fists so they won't shake as Uncle smashes into her tank-train.

 _Guilty, murderer, kin-slayer  
_

"You have much to answer for."

"I do not answer to you," she sneers, shaking inwardly.

She has never seen Uncle this furious . . . this _menacing._

"Then perhaps you should answer to Zuko."

Ty Lee and Mai exchange wide-eyed glances. She swallows, she is Crown Princess and she will not be bullied by this stupid old man.

 _It's all his fault, anyway. Zuko_ wanted _to die for him. Uncle is to blame._

"I dispatched a traitor to the Fire Nation. I have committed no crime."

 _Liar, liar, liar, Zuko is on fire_

"Zuko is dead?"

Ty Lee. Almost a whimper. Mai is stoically silent, but Azula doesn't dare to look at her.

 _You can't betray me too!_

"Besides, I can hardly be blamed for him intentionally jumping in the way of a lightning blast."

Iroh's eyes go wide.

"Didn't the Avatar's pathetic little friends tell you?" she smiles, sickened. "He _saved the Avatar,_ after all. Threw himself in the way. But then again, that's Zuko for you. Spectacularly, stupidly dramatic." She shouldn't enjoy how the blood drains from the former General's face, the horrified expression mirroring the pitch of the screaming inside her head. _"Go ahead._ Ask them. They'll tell you."

Azula has never been one to pass on a killing blow.

"Or do you think I lie? That's what he always said, you know. He used to repeat it to himself, some pathetic mantra. _Azula always lies._ Why would I lie when the truth is _far_ more devastating?"

Iroh flees into the night.

Neither Mai nor Ty Lee dare meet her eyes.

* * *

 _And leave the pain behind_

* * *

Avatar Aang stares out over the city.

He feels so hollow inside.

 _How am I supposed to save the world?_

Everything is backwards and upside down because he should be dead but he _isn't_ and Zuko - why did he do it, Zuko _hates_ him, Zuko is the _enemy_ \- is _dying,_ and Aang is supposed to save everyone, not have everyone die saving him.

He doesn't know what to do, so he leaves a note, grabs his glider - and the earth catches his feet.

"What _on earth_ do you think you're doing, Twinkletoes?"

"I can't do this, Toph. I can't save the world."

"Twinkletoes, get your sorry butt inside right now."

"No, Toph!" He's angry, so angry, even though he's supposed to be detached. "I won't watch you guys die fixing my mistakes."

Toph is small, so small, but when she's angry it's like she towers over everything.

"So, let me get this straight. You think all of us - me, Katara, Sokka - are all so weak and helpless and stupid that we can't be _allowed_ to help you finish the job _you recruited_ us for?"

He blinks. "No, Toph, I-"

"Shut your sorry mouth or I'll earthbend you halfway across the ocean!"

He cringes.

"Yeah, you screwed up. You left your back exposed to the most dangerous opponent you've ever faced, and someone else paid the price. But Zuko getting in the way - that was his choice, and it's really narcissistic of you to deny him that. Nobody asked him to fry himself for you. You didn't ask for his help, or his life. And you don't get to _decide_ what's too dangerous for us. You insult me, your friends, and everything you claim you're trying to accomplish. You're just one person, Aang, and you can't fix the world alone. So quit being such an airhead and stop acting like you have to do everything alone. That's _why_ you asked us to come with you. Because you _can't._ And I may not know very much about being a friend, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you don't _ditch_ yours for doing what you asked them to."

Aang feels so small, looking up at this brave, brave girl who has sacrificed everything and become stronger for it.

"I'm sorry, Toph."

"Prove it. Get inside and help us figure out how to stop this war."

He goes.

* * *

 _I have nothing left to give_

* * *

Zuko's dreams flicker on an off, mostly memories from when he was very young. Startling clarity, details he never would have recalled, and he watches his mother with choked sobs in his chest.

She was so beautiful.

He misses her so much, wishes she was here to clutch his fingers and kiss his brow and tell him how much she loves him.

For the very first time, he looks in a mirror and sees her in his face.

He wishes he'd been more like her, in life. More gentle, more empathetic, more graceful, more loving.

If she is truly gone, though . . . perhaps she can teach him, in death.

* * *

 _I have found the perfect end_

* * *

 **12/07/15**


	16. Chapter 16

**In-Extremis**

 _ **to be at the point of death**_

* * *

 _Light the way and let me go_

* * *

It's the second day since the failed coup, and Toph BeiFong is perched on the roof of the Earth King's palace.

She's not really sure what to do with herself.

After all, she is the greatest earthbender in the world, inventor of metalbending - not that anyone cares; everyone is too busy fretting over the dying prince to notice her - the Blind Bandit, and the Avatar's earthbending sifu. Everything she ever wanted, all the freedom she'd only dreamed of for so long.

Yet, scared and unsettled as this whole situation has made her, she will not show it, will not crack, because dependence is loss of freedom, and she'll pass on a shoulder to cry on in a heartbeat if it means she gets to keep this autonomy. She has sacrificed too much to lose it so soon.

So she reflects on what she actually knows about this Zuko.

 _"Just some angry freak with a ponytail who's tracked us all over the world."_

Toph scoffs. Her traveling companions sure are great at briefings.

 _Prince_ Zuko. Son of the very Fire Lord they're conspiring to defeat, nephew of the retired Dragon of the West. The teenager who has relentlessly pursued Aang in a desperate attempt to capture him and deliver him to his father.

Who threw himself in the way of a _lightning bolt_ for his nemesis.

She's never heard of such selflessness. Naturally, she is suspicious.

 _"It was what I wanted."_

His words to Iroh; she'd overheard them, snooping around out of morbid curiosity. They disturb her deeply; clearly his life has been an unhappy one. She doesn't know him at all, really, though, so she finds herself cut out of the panic. After all, you have to understand your enemy to love him, and she obviously does not. She has never battled him, has never sized up the beat of his heart with the pitch of his voice, the steadiness of his stance, the sharpness of his reflexes.

She likes Iroh - the old man is amusing; his sage wisdom, delicious tea, and quirky sense of humor feel . . . _homey_ , like her home never did. For his sake, she would like to grieve the prince, but instead she is simply . . . perturbed.

 _There's some puzzle piece missing here. The dots don't line up. What is it that I'm not seeing?_

Snorting quietly at her own joke, she stares out over the city with eyes that see nothing, waiting for the answer to come to her.

* * *

 _Take the time to take my breath_

* * *

Katara slumps by Zuko's bed. She's just too exhausted, afraid she'll only hurt him more if she tries to do anything else without some sleep. Iroh left last night, hasn't shown his face since.

 _It's not working. Why is he not getting better?_

She knows the answer, deep inside. She just doesn't want to admit it.

 _I have hope._

Her lips tremble, anger and grief making her eyes burn. _Hope is useless. Hope is futile. Hope won't bring back the dead._

It wasn't supposed to be like this. If you just believe, if you just keep trying, everything is supposed to work out.

But Zuko has turned her perfect world upside down with all his shades of grey instead of her perfect black and white and she's been _believing_ and _trying_ and he's still _not getting better._

"Hey, Katara."

She snaps upright, wiping at her eyes and straightening her dress.

Toph seems unusually sober, sitting quietly beside her without any of her usual swagger.

"Hey."

"I've been thinking," Toph says, after a moment of silence, "and something just isn't lining up. This Zuko, he's super determined, never gives up, survives everything you and the rest of life throw at him - including, but not limited to, being banished on pain of death, thrown off buildings and attacked by the full fury of the Avatar State - but all of a sudden he's trying to commit suicide by jumping in front of a _lightning bolt._ Where's the disconnect? Why does someone with that much willpower just . . . give up?"

Katara stares at her hands for a long time.

"I think he was already dying, Toph," she whispers.

Toph cocks her head, delicate brow furrowed.

"Back in that cave, he kept coughing - it sounded really bad - and spitting up blood, and when I tried to help him, he pushed me away. I said I wasn't going to just sit there and watch him choke himself to death." She bites back a sob. "He said I didn't really have a choice."

Finally meeting the earthbender's sightless gaze, she lets a tear trickle down her face.

"Why else would he say that? Why else would he have gotten in the way? Why else would everything I've tried not be working?"

Toph's frown deepens, her bare feet tapping against polished marble floors.

"I don't know, Katara."

As the younger girl leaves, Katara's finger's clutch the vial strung around her neck.

She'd use it in a heartbeat.

She desperately wishes she had some reassurance it would save him.

So she holds on to the spirit water, saves it for her last, desperate attempt.

* * *

 _I will end where I began_

* * *

 **12/08/15**


	17. Chapter 17

**In-Extremis**

 ** _to be at the point of death_**

* * *

 _Leave me alone;_ _God, let me go_

* * *

 _Uncle's finger's wrap around his bicep, anchoring him. Snarling, Zuko tries to wrench away._

 _"Let me go, Uncle!"_

 _The mist below beckons, the ruins of the Western Air Temple behind him. All he has to do is step over the edge, and freedom will be his._

 _"Please, nephew! Do not throw your life away!"_

 _"It's my choice!"_

 _"Then reconsider!"_

 _"God!" he clutches his head, agonized. "Can't you just leave me alone?"_

 _Uncle cries._

 _"I do not wish to bury another child."_

 _"It's too late for that."_

 _The mist reaches up and swallows him alive._

* * *

 _I'm blue and cold, b_ _lack skies will burn_

* * *

 _The chill wind bites, his heavy white suit barely keeping his limbs from going numb. Snow whirls around him, the storm howling like some angry spirit. Zuko is lost, so lost. There's something he's searching for, though there's nothing but endless white slowly drowning him. Even his skin is white, what little color he possessed long since nipped away by the frost growing on his clothes. Desperate, he punches bright, blazing flames at the whirling white above him, and the sky catches fire, raining down flames and debris on him until he collapses in a mound of snow, burned to ashes._

 _The moon glows red above him, then slowly fades to white, and the girl in the sky weeps._

* * *

 _Love pull me down; h_ _ate lift me up_

* * *

 _He's running down the hallway. The windows of the corridor loom over him, the curtains billowing in the breeze. His breath comes in wheezes as he toddles towards the nursery. It's dark out, he should have been in bed a long time ago, Mommy will be angry -_

 _There's a sharp cry._

 _Fear tickles his spine. Zuko edges up behind the doorframe, peeping inside._

 _Father is here._

 _Father is angry._

 _Mother stumbles backwards, a hand pressed to her cheek, and even in near-darkness Zuko can see the red of the skin she's covering with her fingers._

 _Father_ hit _Mother._

 _His hands shake, he can't move. Mother's eyes are wide, Father is closing in on her, as she cups her face with one hand and her swollen tummy with the other. She looks afraid, so afraid._

 _Scared, he's so scared Father will hurt Mother and the new baby. Father grabs her wrists and pushes her onto the bed and she's crying, sobbing as he forces her down, and Zuko can't watch anymore so he yells._

 _"Mom!"_

 _Father whirls on him, and the look in his eyes is terrifying, but Zuko balls his fists anyway and rushes at his father, latches onto his leg and kicks and bites and claws and screams._

 _Then he's flying across the room, back smashing against the wall._

 _And suddenly he's sixteen again, long gangly limbs and mangled face and failing lungs but he's bigger and stronger now and he's never hated anyone as much as he hates Ozai now._

 _"You will learn respect. And suffering will be your teacher."_

 _He does not cower, this time._

 _Zuko grabs the fist that flies at him and twists, the sickening crunch of bone deeply satisfying. There's an unearthly howl of pain, and suddenly he realizes it's from_ him _, because Ozai's foot is smashed into his chest and his ribs cave, broken bones stabbing into his lungs._

 _"Did you forget? I know what you are. Weak, sickly, unworthy. Should have killed you the moment you were born. You can never defeat me. Your love is a joke."_

 _Laying on the floor, staring at his broken open chest, tears stream down his face._

 _He has failed._

* * *

 _Just turn around, t_ _here's nothing left_

* * *

Zuko's ragged breathing is catching, each desperate gasp more labored than the last. His pulse is unsteady, rapid, like a train derailed and about to crash. Blood burbles in his throat and streams down his chin, his hands twitching uncontrollably.

 _This is it._

Katara takes a deep breath, unstoppers the vial.

Blue glow sinks into his skin, flashes brightly.

She doesn't dare to open her eyes for a long moment.

Every trace of the massive burn is gone, his bare chest unmarred, pale skin unblemished.

His eyes flicker open.

"Zuko?" she whispers.

Two shallow breaths, and then . . . nothing. The last bit of light in those golden eyes fades.

Her screams echo throughout the palace.

* * *

 _Somewhere far beyond this world_

* * *

 _Something is rattling inside him, someone calls his name. The girl, the waterbender, leans over him, and he wants to tell her how blue her eyes are, how she's so full of color and life, wants to ask where his uncle is and why his mother isn't here, but she blurs and she's gone and there's nothing._

 _Not even pain._

* * *

 _I feel nothing anymore_

* * *

 **12/09/15**

Breaking Benjamin - Dear Agony


	18. Chapter 18

**In-Extremis**

 ** _to be at the point of death_**

* * *

 _Sing the anthem of the angels_

* * *

At sunrise, a proclamation from the Earth King himself circulates through Ba Sing Se; calling every noble, citizen, businessman, and refugee alike to squares all across the city. The Impenetrable City is far too vast for all the people to gather in one spot, so they have arranged them by sectors. It's all efficiency and order. Despite how corrupt they'd become, the Dai Lee had certainly done their jobs well.

Guards have been recruited from the many policing squads all throughout the city. They stand solemnly on pillars of earth raised above the gathering crowds, each clutching their missives carefully.

Earth King Kuei himself has personally signed every one of them.

At the stroke of noon, every one of them begins to read.

 _"Citizens of Ba Sing Se! Your king bids you listen._

 _Three days past, Princess Azula of the Fire Nation infiltrated our walls, disguised as an ally of the Avatar."_

Murmurs of shock and fear ripple through the crowds in hushed whispers.

 _"She made her way into the palace itself, the very heart of the city, where she turned the traitor Long Feng and his corrupt Dai Lee to her cause, setting up a coup to topple our monarchy and lay down our walls, leaving us defenseless to the Fire Nation armies that lay in wait, while she herself pursued an even greater prize._

 _Deep beneath the palace, she lured the Avatar into her trap, and in the desperate battle that ensued, unleashed a blow that would have destroyed the last hope for an end to this hundred year war, and assured the destruction of our nation."_

There's a hush, a silence of bated breath and wide eyes.

 _"One man stood in her way._

 _The Fire Nation exile, Prince Zuko, who had taken refuge within our walls, took her blow, allowing the Avatar to defeat the invader and scourge the palace of her minions._

 _Our city was saved by the firstborn son of Fire Lord Ozai himself."_

Cries of amazement and shock rise up, and they wait for silence, before continuing.

 _"But at a great cost._

 _Three days he suffered, under the ministrations of the best healers in the city._

 _In early hours of this morning, Prince Zuko died of the burns he suffered at his sister's hands."_

Utter silence falls.

 _"Citizens of Ba Sing Se! People of the Earth Kingdom! Earth King Kuei bids you remember this day. Remember the son of our enemy, a boy sixteen years of age, who gave his life to save our country! Remember Prince Zuko, a man who looked beyond his nation's hate, and chose mercy! Remember his sacrifice, as a hope for a future in which peace and understanding between all people may prosper. As proof that humanity can achieve greatness despite all the darkness that encumbers this world._

 _Remember Zuko, son of Ozai, who has saved us all."_

* * *

Hours later, only one woman remains in the square by the Firelight Fountain. Silky black tresses obscure her face, one hand pressed to her mouth and another clutching a copy of the missive that she'd begged from the guard as he'd descended from his pillar.

Tears drip onto the edges of the paper, dark lashes obscuring bright golden irises, but she brushes them away with her pale fingers, careful not to damage the carefully inked portrait.

It is everything she's wanted for six years, but she desperately wishes to give it back.

Day turns to night, and Ursa weeps for the son she no longer knows; for the son she no longer has a chance to.

* * *

 _And say the last goodbye_

* * *

 **12/10/15**

Breaking Benjamin - Anthem of the Angels


	19. Chapter 19

**In-Extremis**

 ** _to be at the point of death_**

* * *

 _Six months later_

* * *

There's a sickening _snip_ , and black locks flutter to the carpet by her bare feet. She smiles at her reflection, but she looks like the madwoman she is and now her fingers are caught in her ribbons.

"Azula."

Chills crawl down her spine, and her eyes slowly drift to the side of the mirror.

"You're dead."

"Yes," he says, quietly.

"I killed you."

"No," he says, "I was already going."

"I _know_ that!" She waves the paper - the diagnosis dated ten years ago - at him. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?"

He says nothing, only looks at her sadly, once golden eyes now tinted ghostly blue.

"You framed me." She whirls, grabbing the dresser for support. "I have to admit, Zuko; I'd never have thought you capable of such deceit. You die a martyr - a hero - Uncle never discovers your lies, and everyone is turned against mommy's little monster."

"You're not a monster, Azula."

Her lips tremble. "Mother thought so."

"If she did, she was wrong."

"Are you even here? Am I hallucinating now?"

"I'm really here."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

She freezes.

"I love you, and I'm sorry."

She squeezes her eyes shut to hold back the flood that threatens to pour down her face.

"Liar."

Her brushes shatters the mirror, and Zuko's ghost is gone by the time the blurriness in her eyes has faded enough for her to see.

* * *

 _And she sleeps with the peace of the dead and the damned_

* * *

 **12/10/15**


	20. Chapter 20 - AN

So. Thus the story ends.

(For now.)

I would like to take a moment to thank everyone who read, and even more so those who reviewed, this little ficlet of mine. The idea just sprang into my head one evening and I couldn't make it go away, so I challenged myself to write a chapter a day. Of course, I wound up at times writing and posting multiple chapters a day as my enthusiasm grew (thanks to all you wonderful reviewers). Your thoughts and insights really helped me solidify many of my vague ideas, and honestly I'm very happy with this, although I would have liked to have done a bit more for it.

As for the lines of mismatched text, some of them I just made up, but a number of them are lyrics that I pinched, as well as a few random quotes (most of which I can't remember for the life of me where I heard them, so forgive me).

 _Crawl_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Who Wants to Live Forever_ \- Queen

 _Breath_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Give Me a Sign_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Anthem of the Angels_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Close to Heaven_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Defeated_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Without You_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Hollow_ \- Breaking Benjamin

 _Dear Agony_ \- Breaking Benjamin

(You may have noticed a recurring theme here. Yes, I am obsessed. No, I will not apologize.)

Again, thank you all so much for taking the time to share your thoughts with me. I hope you enjoyed it (in a twisted, bitter, weepy sort of way) as much as I have. If there's interest I may be persuaded to continue/write a sequel.

Sayonara,

~Evil Angel


End file.
